


Sisters Three

by SoaringJe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoaringJe/pseuds/SoaringJe
Summary: How much more would this war take from her? Her hands shook with remembered blood and failures. But she stood tall, wand at the ready as a figure popped into existence.





	Sisters Three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delirious_Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious_Comfort/gifts).

She was glad it wasn’t a clock. It was scarcely bearable as is, but add an incessant ticking sound; and she couldn’t _really_ be faulted for going insane. Not like—

Thankfully it wasn’t a clock.

It used to represent where they were: home, hospital, Ministry, Hogwarts, et cetera; the stars laid over a map. And then Nymphadora had gotten her Apparition license.

_“You are fortunate none of us are epileptic, Nymphadora!”_

__

__

_“Aw, c’mon, mum; s’all in good fun. And you can’t tell me it didn’t look cool!”_

Ted had chuckled, returning home from work. _“She has you there, dear.”_ She remembered the warm press of his lips against her cheek, the frown on her face fading away.

_Nymphadora beamed. “And this is why you’re the cool parent."_

_Her eyes bored into her daughter’s, and then her husband’s, who held his hands up. “She said it, not me.”_

_He had a point. She swished her wand, and Nymphadora yelped. “Really, mum?” she asked over the pitter patter of hail hitting the floor. “An ice shower?”_

She had only smirked, until Nymphadora pulled out her wand and there was a flurry of feathers filling her vision. 

_“My ladies are so dignified,” Ted deadpanned._

_Mother and daughter met gazes then and turned their wands on Ted. _

_“How’s this for dignified?”_

_Their laughter filled the air, their three stars shining together as they bounded through the house._

It was silent now, their stars twinkling statically against the pitch of night. Four remained.

And then one winked out.

She closed her eyes longer than a standard blink, breathing deep and feeling the cut on her heart deeper. She had hoped at least one father would survive the war.

She remembered meeting him, first as an Order member, having known of him previously as one of Sirius’ friends. She was immediately struck by how steady and _kind_ he was. She knew of his condition, knew of the cruelty creatures were dealt; yet he was still capable of, and still chose to _be_ kind. A noble soul with an undaunted light.

She remembered meeting him again as family and being glad her daughter had found love.

But a noble Gryffindor? She remembered many of them. Her eyes traced their names on stone.

And yet another she would trace and mourn.

She had hoped, but oh how her daughter loved heroes, the battles the light waged, burning with righteousness. All she could see was the shadow they cast, the charred wick of flames past.

So she sat and waited. Useless.

There were two—

Her breath caught and she swiped her wand off the table, rushing to the corner of the room, a diagnostic spell on her lips and—his chest rose and fell in sleep.

She cast the diagnostic anyway, even though she _knew_ her grandson was in good health, and it was just due to the spell’s temperamental nature that his star disappeared. She had had to modify her family’s traditional tracking spell—obviously, as she had married a muggleborn and her daughter had married a ‘creature.’ A few swishes of her wand and little Teddy’s star shone once more.

She wandered back over to her seat, laying her wand carefully upon the table. She was far too tense to trust holding it and not burning the house down. But before she sat, her eyes locked on the stars.

Her daughter’s star had never fallen, not once since she had come home from the hospital holding her little bundle of joy. She remembered how tired she was still even after being discharged, how warm her baby was in her arms, how full her heart felt with Ted’s hand on her shoulder, and how brightly their three stars shone.

A star fell.

She dimly realized she must have too. She couldn’t feel the ache of her knees as they struck the unforgiving floor. Couldn’t hear her breaths rattling in her chest. Couldn’t feel her empty arms. Couldn’t pull her eyes away from where her star _should_ be—_it was always there why wasn’t it there—_

For a moment, she remembered all the gods her birth family had taught her. And rage suffused her being as she cursed every single one.

And then the feeling was gone and she was just drained and empty.

How many more would she outlive?

Regulus was so young; Sirius was gone before he could live again; Ted was…

She struggled to breathe.

Remus too. And now her _daughter?_

She ought to have been crying, she thought. But no tears welled out of dark brown eyes.

How much more would this war _take_ from her?

Her eyes were still trained on where her star should be. But now there were three stars.

She knew it wasn’t Nymphadora’s: wrong place, wrong color, wrong vibrancy. But whose—

If her eyes hadn’t been clear of tears, if she hadn’t been so numb—she might not have noticed the connection.

But she did.

And she knew _exactly_ what it was even as her heart felt like it was being ripped apart because it was one thing to know your husband and daughter were killed, and another thing entirely to know—

Her birth family was cruel. Often needlessly so. They disowned her after she married Ted, but it was a conditional disownment. She would _never_ willingly fulfill the conditions to regain her rights and they had _known it._

They couldn’t possibly have foreseen this.

So she moved far away from her vulnerable grandson, shielded behind as many spells as she could muster; and she _focused_ on that all-too-familiar connection, on her authority as the highest ranking Black, and sent an order that she wished she could give to her daughter _but it was too late always too late—_

_ **Come home.** _

How much more would this war take from her? Her hands shook with remembered blood and failures. But she stood tall, wand at the ready as a figure popped into existence. 

She was Andromeda Black and if she had anything to say about it, none at all.

* * *

She was glad it hadn’t been broken. It was a calming presence for her in a room of despair; but add a bleak and heretofore unseen, thus strange and confusing—

Thankfully it hadn’t been broken. 

She tilted her head back from the enchanted ceiling and the stars twinkling above, rolling her shoulders as she continued on, pretending it had been stiff muscles rather than a tired soul that had prompted her pause.

She could feel their eyes on her still, not an uncommon occurrence for her, but she suspected their reasons were a far cry from the norm. 

She supposed she was grateful it was less than the spectacle earlier.

_“Don’t take her into custody! I vouch for her!”_ Harry Potter, the triumphant hero had shouted from across the Great Hall.

_It had been only diligent experience that kept her ostensibly calm as what felt like the whole of the hall turned to look at her. _

_Once a Gryffindor…_ she remembered thinking. _Brash and bold and unnecessary. _She was licensed to assist in healing; no one would have taken her in during the grace period for the wounded. Now people wondered what exactly she had done to have earned their hero’s trust. She had simply been seeing Draco off for questioning, relieved to recognize the Aurors as ones she knew were just and not vengeful. She would not be surprised if Harry had already interceded her her son. She had seen off the team sent after her husband, wishing for a speedy capture so she could properly annul their marriage.

One of the healers from St. Mungo’s had interceded and cleared up the misunderstanding. _But that didn’t stop the questions brewing in their minds._

She had a question of her own brewing, eyes carefully and inconspicuously roaming over her fellow healers. She rarely saw her save for events like these, their similar professions requiring them to cross paths, and combined with the prestige and leniency healers were afforded...it was her only chance.

Blue eyes confirmed what she had already sensed: she wasn't here.

She fought not to let that bother her, continuing on. She was passing by the Weasleys, their family having lost one but rallying their spirit as they quietly-for-them recounted one of the duels of the battle, “Mum was amazing! The bitch was too busy laughing and her spell hit her dead on, like a spiderweb of green before she burst into ashes!”

“What did you say?” she asked them. The entirety of their family looked at her in confusion. Her voice was too harsh, her breaths too shallow. Her already pale face the shade of ghosts as her ears rung.

The girl found her voice first, recounting the details she had hoped and prayed to have misheard.

A spark of hope flickered in a storm of dread.

She was Narcissa Malfoy née Black and she had already stopped the war from taking her son, but could someone have saved _her?_

* * *

She was glad it was her. It was one of many duels she had taken during this battle, but she couldn’t wait to get one of the stay-ins—

Her laugh cut off a second before the spell hit her. There was plenty of time to block or dodge. 

Or there would have been, had a voice not echoed in her head, pulling her away.

She had last felt this when her parents had been alive, but it wasn’t them. The voice was all wrong.

_ **Come home.** _

She was Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, and she obeyed.

**Author's Note:**

> 😬


End file.
